


Spandex

by liberoryu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, I guess i really wanted to have DMHG running around London in spandex haha, Miraculous Ladybug - Freeform, Semi-Miraculous Au, idk - Freeform, remix!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:28:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8640583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberoryu/pseuds/liberoryu
Summary: Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy have been partnered to fight the once again burgeoning crime that stains (alongside other things, of course) London's alley ways and streets—in spandex suits—they just don't know it yet.(inspired by Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir, I love secret identities and magical girl transformation sequences)(This fic has been abandoned, sorry!)





	

1.

'Are you decent, Harry?' said Hermione.

From the increasing tempo of the staccato-like tapping Harry Potter could hear on the other side of the door he knew he had a minute tops before his whirlwind of a friend came crashing in with all the grace of a blind bull. Her impatience know no bounds.

Regrettably so, he thought, pulling on a t-shirt post haste and muffling his yawns with a pillow. Although I don't quite think I'm ready to deal with anyone right now. Need  _sleeeeep_.

But aloud he said, 'Yeah, I'll open up in a tick.'

A moment later his bushy-haired friend walked in with an air of urgent concern emanating from her very being. He scratched at his head sleepily.

'I thought you'd be ready by now,' she said, hands on her hips. 'It's almost six and -'

'Hermione, we start at nine.'

'Well, you told me to make sure I was on time today!'

'At nine,' Harry whined. 'Even the floo doesn't open until eight-thirty!'

'Well, I suppose I'll just have to sit here until we leave.'

'Figures — tea or coffee?'

'Juice.'

'Oi, now you're just being difficult.' Hermione glared hard at Harry and his glasses fogged over. With a resigned sigh he stalked over to his fridge and retrieved a nearly empty juice box. 'This was my incentive for Kingsley's departmental meeting today, you know those drag on for ages -- I need my pick-me-ups.'

His mourning was meet with indifference. 

Half an hour later, Harry and Hermione had set up their impromptu breakfast in the Black's dining room: A preheated plate of squashed scones — prepared by Hermione and flattened by Harry's bottom — and a cup of the most bitter kind of coffee Harry could scrounge up for himself along with his favoured pumpkin juice that was meant to be savoured; it's flavour was to be slowly deconstructed and mulled over leisurely. Instead, It was cruelly sloshed down Hermione's gullet in seconds and the _very_ un-lady-like burp she let out after horrified him.

##

 

Half an hour later found Hermione squirming restlessly. Harry had nodded off on her side as soon as the conversation slowed. Everything was still and silent.

Crickets chirped in the background.

She decided to break the silence. 

'So ... where's the fire, Harry?' she said in a loud voice and watched in amusement as he started and dropped his scone into his cup.

'Whazzat?' he said in a groggy, miserable voice as he eyed his sodden breakfast and ruined tea.

'Why did I have to get up at four o'clock today instead of my usual four - thirty just so that I'm early to the Ministry today?' she questioned patiently.

'Your usual is four-thirty?' that shook him awake, 'Blimey, what do you even do ... Oh, yeah, I got a memo from the Head Desk to tell you to get to the Ministry an hour and half earlier today, don't what it's about though. They couldn't get it past your door themselves. Just for the record, you could have woken up at seven and still made it.'

Hermione ignored his accusation but nodded along in confirmation with the rest of it. 'Huh, yeah. I've warded my cubicle, the Parkinson's have a nasty habit of waltzing into my room to scream my ears off whenever they feel like it,' said Hermione. 'I took their Elf in last month but they somehow managed to scrounge up some bail money to get him back to that hell hole of theirs. I've been trying to get him back but it's been a bit hard.'

Her eyebrows furrowed downward while she let out a huge, suffering sigh and dropped her head onto the table.

Harry knew at once that he was required to assume the role of a supportive friend. He patted her head with a 'There, there' and slipped another paper-flat scone towards her all while feeling very proud of himself for handling things so well. With her head nestled under her elbows, Hermione let out a silent scream. 

'I just feel so bad for Mustachio, you know?' she said. 'I mean having a name like that is bad enough, and then having to deal with Pansy's rubbish ... it's tragic.'

He'd ironed a suit of hers the wrong way this time, and she tossed him into the cellars like a sack of Irish potatoes and left him there for a week with a packet of stale bread and orders to not apparate — I can't even file a proper report because they do him no bodily harm but treat him like that instead which leaves me with no solid evidence against them!'

Harry's cup broke into a mosaic of a hundred pieces and he looked somewhat alarmed.

For the sake of his apartment he decided he would hop to it and get out as fast as possible.

 

##

 

It was eight o'clock when the duo arrived outside Whitehall's toilets. Harry was put out as this meant that he would have to kill half an hour doing absolutely nothing just outside a twenty by twenty plot of filth and stench until he could flush himself down the drain. He scuttled over towards a telephone booth a good ten metres away and pressed a fresh handkerchief he'd accioed quietly from Hermione's bag to his nose.

His usual routine involved coming in forty five minutes later and skip the stink and the crowd. No one would say anything to him. He was _famous_.

And his morning glares™ were pretty frightening as well.

Ah, the perks of being a hero, Harry thought glumly, unless you're friends with one Hermione Granger.

He was interrupted for the second time that day by an impatient tapping. There was no puzzling over who it was, that part was fairly obvious. Harry looked behind him and came face to face with a telephone booth. Pressing his nose to the glass, he was able to make out Hermione's fuzzy hair bouncing in the crisp wind through the millimetres of grime streaking the window pane. She pushed the door open and beckoned him inside. ' Let's get in.' she said.

'Hermione, the floo —' began Harry in a plaintive voice but he quickly stopped talking and scrambled to grab a hold of the sides of the booth, staring dumbly at Hermione as she started punching numbers in a rapid sequence that made the booth sink perilously into the ground with each repetition she entered in.

A particularly hard bump brought Harry to his senses, 'Merlin's saggy left tit, Hermione! What the _hell_ are you doing?' 

She sighed but motioned him to quiet down for a moment as she focused on the tapping that was going on in front of her. A second later she ceased her button popping while the booth itself had stopped hurtling down at breakneck speed but was instead creakily settling down into stillness.

Harry all but tore past his crazy friend as the booth swung open...

'Harry! Wait!'

...and ran headfirst into a shelf laden with heavy buckets whose contents were of the suspiciously questionable kind. 

 

##

 

'So let me get this straight, you've been given permission to enter the Ministry whenever you want via a _samples_ closet?'

'I had to use it once last year during a particularly horrendous case when I didn't have enough time to go against the Goyle's last year, but I reckon no one remembered to re-ward it after I used it that time. Although, I guess it's all right. I'm the only one here who remembers the code.'

'I'm pretty sure no one else wants to remember the code.' muttered Harry as he scourgified the last of the stinksap that clung to his hair in a matted clump. 

The two made their way to the Atrium on level eight and Hermione struggled to keep upwind of Harry.

'Getting here early still doesn't help us, does it?' said Harry, glancing at this watch. 'It's not like the receptionists are going to be ready for us with a cup of tea and a smile.' 

'Harry, we don't have receptionists.'

'Ah, right. So what do we do 'till th— _Oh.'_

A tiny gold paper plane had flown and wedged itself firmly within the knots and tangles that made up Hermione's hair. Harry gallantly jumped to attention and tried to get it out but all he managed to do was get his hand stuck in as well.

He stood frowning for a few seconds like that before he conjured up a pair of scissors with his free hand and was about to strike at the looming mass in front of him, lucikly however, Hermione's shriek stopped him.

That and her _Petrificus Totalus._ She loosened the memo and Harry's hand from her hair with a quick wave of her wand and unfroze her friend. Then she stepped out of his way to let him flop gracefully onto the floor.

She unfolded the plane and read its contents which caused her to frown and turn the paper over a couple of times. 'That's strange,' she said. 'It's blank.'

A moment later she disappeared with a loud bang and a puff of smoke that left behind a faint scent of parchment and ink.

Harry didn't seem fazed at all. He stretched out and got to his feet, tugged the collar of robes upwards and headed off towards the lifts.

He got off at the ninth level.

 _'Department of Mysteries_.' the intercom chimed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm looking out for a Beta! If you know one or are one don't hesitate to let me know—I need the help!


End file.
